The Loner (14 page)

“The clerk said, ‘Yes, sir, Mr. Becker, that's Room Nine, isn't that right?' So it was easy as could be.”

Black Fox was still looking at her as if she'd lost her mind.

“And you sneaked into his room just because it was his? Because this was one person in Sallisaw you recognized from Sequoyah?”

“Partly,” she said, “but also because I thought it was strange for a ruffian like Hudson Becker to be staying in a hotel instead of camping out.”

He nodded as if he'd already thought that, too. Well, good. Maybe he'd find out she wasn't so dumb, after all.

“Also, it was not like Becker to be alone,” she said. “I've never seen him without a half dozen
hangers-on. And, judging by the stuff he was carrying, he'd obviously been spending some money.”

Black Fox studied her hard, his black eyes telling her nothing but trying to see straight into her mind. No, he was looking right through her, thinking about what she'd said.

His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at her prize again.

“Do you think this bottle came from the wagon master at Little Creek Crossing?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I do.”

“Because…” she said.

“Burke and Fielding said the whiskey on the wagon was all Monongahela. But it's just a gut feeling I have because it could have come from anywhere.”

“Does the saloon have any of this brand?” she asked.

“I don't know. They'd sell it by the bottle, but they'd want a pretty penny for it and I'm doubting Becker would pay a premium price when he could get something else cheaper.”

Cathleen nodded. “He doesn't strike me as a man of really fine taste,” she said.

Black Fox smiled. “Me neither,” he said. “Besides that, I talked to Becker in the street and he brought up the subject of the robbery at Little Creek Crossing.”

“Well,” she said, “that in itself doesn't mean anything. Those two deputies themselves have brought the news of the robbery and Foster's shooting to Sallisaw.”

“Right,” he said, and the affirmation warmed her blood out of all proportion to its worth.

What he thinks of you doesn't matter, Cathleen. Only as it speeds things up in finding Turner's killer. That's the only importance Black Fox's opinion has to you.

“But thanks to you,” he said, “we know that this brand of whiskey, at least, was in his possession.”

Her treacherous heart bloomed with happiness in her chest at the praise.

“Why were you talking to Becker, anyhow?” she said.

“He wanted to visit with me,” Black Fox said. “To spread the word that
you
are going into bootlegging and he's getting out of it.”

Her jaw must've dropped a mile, because he laughed.

“Becker complains that he can't compete with you,” he said, “because everyone who thinks you're Robin Hood will buy liquor from you, and he and Glass will have no customers left.”

It took a minute for all that to soak in, partly because it was so unexpected and crazy and partly because she was watching the way Black Fox's face changed when he laughed. And the light that
came into the depths of his dark, dark eyes when he did.

Stop watching him and his looks, Cat. Stop feeling entirely. Try to think, darn it.

“So,” she said, her excitement rising as she thought it through, “Hudson is trying to get all the lawmen after me for murdering Foster. Is he my impostor, do you think? He and his men robbed the wagon master? And shot Foster and killed him?”

“Could be,” he said, “but townspeople told Burke and Fielding that Becker's been in Sallisaw for three days.”

“He could've ridden from here to Foster's and Little Creek Crossing and then back again,” she said. “It'd take most of the night, but it could be done.”

“That's what I'm thinking.”

Black Fox held her gaze with a long, straight look.

“And Tassel Glass didn't do it—even though he actually has more reason, since you're openly trying to kill him—because he knew you were with me last night.”

Cathleen grinned mischievously.

“Maybe he took that chance to implicate you, too,” she said, teasing him. “Maybe our friend Tassel thinks he can get us both hanged.”

They laughed.

“It might be both of them at different times,” Black Fox said. “Maybe now Hudson's taking a page from Tassel's book. Tassel had a lot more reason to kill Donald Turner and leave your mark there than Hudson did because Turner was carrying a warrant for Glass's arrest.”

“The Fort Smith deputies were after him for bootlegging? When did they start policing the Nation for that?”

“Not for bootlegging. For shooting an Arkansas whiskey supplier. White man.”

“And Tassel was furious with me yesterday for calling him out,” Cat said. “Do you think, by any chance, they could be working
together
?”

“Stranger things have happened, but I doubt it. Maybe they're both just seizing on The Cat as a scapegoat to keep the law from looking too closely at them.”

“Maybe. But why in the world would Becker tell you that I'm a bootlegger when I've poured out whiskey and done everything I could think of to put them all out of business?”

“That's just it,” Black Fox said. “He says you want them gone so you can have all the customers to yourself.”

Cathleen raised her eyebrows.

“Well, there's a certain logic in that,” she said. “Who knows? Hudson may be smarter than we give him credit for.”

“He may be.”

They thought about it for a little while longer.

Suddenly, almost at the same moment, both of them got to their feet.

“Smart or stupid, he's all we've got,” Cathleen said, and Black Fox finished her thought, “and he's leaving town.”

They headed for their horses like old partners who didn't need to say another word.

Good. You can do this, Cat. Remember it's only partners that y'all are. And only until you prove who killed Donald Turner. After that, you still have work to do.

 

Hudson Becker led them back north and up the road they came in on. He traveled at a good pace, but he did slow at unpredictable times and Black Fox and Cathleen almost ran up on him twice.

“I should've left that bottle of whiskey,” Cat said regretfully. “He's suspicious that somebody's following him now that it's missing from his room.”

“Maybe, but he probably thinks the desk clerk or the maid took that,” Black Fox said. “He's not used to going it alone, as you said. He might be expecting some of his men.”

An hour or so later, when they caught a glimpse of Becker again, he had two companions.

“It must be nice to always be right,” Cathleen
said, teasing him. “No wonder you guessed I'd come to Sequoyah so you could catch me.”

He flashed her a slanting glance and a grin that lit his whole face.

“Aren't you glad I did?” he asked lightly.

She raised one eyebrow and returned his look.

“I'm reserving judgment until we see how all this turns out,” she said.

“Better think about it,” he said. “Remember that shooter on top of Glass's store.”

“Willie would've saved me,” she said lightly. “He was drawing his gun when you rode in there and messed up his plans.”

“And yours, too, I'm thinking,” Black Fox said wryly.

“We need to see about Willie,” she said. “I feel bad that he got shot for me.”

“He's sitting propped up against a stack of pillows somewhere with either my Aunt Sally or that girl in the calico dress waiting on him hand and foot.”

“I hope it's the girl,” Cat said. “That's another thing I feel bad about—not loving him back.”

“Forget it. He just likes thinking he's in love,” Black Fox said.

“Well, thanks a lot,” she said. “I thought it was my beauty that he couldn't resist.”

“Nope. He can't resist trying to be a hero and you seem to need one.”

“What?”

Astonished, she jerked around in the saddle to stare at him.

“I do
not
need a hero,” she said. “How do you think I've survived the outlaw life? Taking care of myself!”

He shook his head.

“Willie helped you with your wagon, I found you shot and bleeding to death, and we both helped you out of that ruckus you caused with Tassel yesterday.”

“Not so! You two caused that ‘ruckus' to go wrong. If it hadn't been for y'all interfering, Tassel would be dead by now and I'd be done.”

“You'd be done
for
,” he said. “You had bitten off more than you could chew that time, Miss Cat. You might as well own up to it.”

“I'll do no such thing,” she cried. “If this isn't just like a man! Women do the work and the men try to take the credit.”

He held her gaze for the longest time, shaking his head a little, smiling to himself about things he didn't tell her.

“Don't you be laughing at me,” she said, shaking her finger in warning.

But suddenly, she wasn't mad anymore.

He wasn't making fun of her, she could tell. Actually, there was something sort of admiring about the way he looked at her.

And there was a tender light in his dark eyes.

She smiled back at him. It was a moment she
would never forget, if she lived to be a hundred. It seemed to come upon them so naturally there was no way to explain it.

She wouldn't get used to times like this. She wouldn't let herself.

B
ecker and his men didn't stop until nearly dusk, when they reached the roadside establishment called Possum's. A longtime fixture at the ford of Red Dog Creek on the Sallisaw/ Sequoyah Road, the long porch of the place had followed the bend of the creek in a rough crescent shape as the proprietor, Possum Harnage, periodically made a ramshackle addition to one end or the other.

This evening, business was good. A freight wagon stood in the campground a few yards on up the road where customers sometimes went to drink from the bottles of moonshine Possum made or to eat the food his helper had cooked.
Several horses stood outside in the dooryard along the rail where Becker and his men tied theirs.

Black Fox and Cathleen held their mounts back in the brush, out of sight, as they watched their quarry get down and go inside.

“They went into the tavern,” she said. “I could go into the store and maybe hear what they say.”

The thought of her in the same room—no matter how big it was—with Becker and his cronies made his skin crawl.

Well, then, Vann, how will you feel when you turn her over to the court at Fort Smith?

He wasn't going to let himself think like that. His interest in her was purely professional.

“You're my prisoner,” he said. “You go where I say.”

She whipped her head around to burn him with her hot, green eyes.

“I'm not guilty of murder and you know it now,” she said. “You have no right to control me.”

“You're guilty of stealing,” he shot back, “and escape from an officer of the law.”

“You know I won't run off,” she said incredulously. “Have you forgotten I didn't when you left me earlier today? What's the matter with you?”

I can't bear the thought of you in danger, that's what.

“Remember Becker and his men know you by sight,” he said.

She swept her gaze scornfully away from him—as if that were the most pathetic excuse in the world—and fixed it firmly on the open door of Possum's.

“I've got to get in there,” she said, half under her breath.

She bit her lower lip and narrowed her eyes in deep thought. Not a trace of fear showed in her face.

“I recall several windows along the back,” she said. “And Possum's too tight to light it all. I'll wait until it gets a little bit darker.”

Black Fox's stomach clenched.

“I know you well enough to know that there'll be no stopping you short of tying you to a tree,” he said. “So get ready.”

She hit him with her wide-eyed gaze.

“I know you well enough to know you're fair,” she said. “And it's only fair that I get every chance to prove these are the men who've been using my mark.”

“What proof will it be in court if you say one of them jumped up and proposed a drink to the fact they shot Donald Turner in the back? Since you're the one whose mark was found at the scene of his murder?”

She clenched her jaw in anger.

“You know I'm not a liar,” she said, through her teeth. “You know that, Black Fox.”

“It'll be the three of them, plus maybe Possum and whoever else is in there, against one.”

“Answer me,” she said, her anger rising so that she laid her hand on the gun she wore, “tell me I'm a liar if you think I am.”

Her spunk just never ceased to amaze him. It tickled him.

Any other woman would be batting her eyes at him and begging
him
to go in there to look for proof. Any other woman he'd ever known would be begging to get down and rest after all the hard miles they'd ridden that day. Any other woman would not be challenging his opinion of her.

But this was The Cat.

Of course, any other woman wouldn't be in this fix. This girl had been out of her mind for a long time. Too long, living alone with grief and rage.

She wasn't sad now, though, and she wasn't scared. Her eyes were snapping with challenge and the rage was directed against him. She had sand, all right, and he really believed she would dare anything.

Somehow, it just made him want to smile but he tried not to because he knew it would just make her madder.

“You're fast,” he said thoughtfully. “I don't doubt that, since you judged yourself ready to
take Glass on. But I'm faster, Cathleen. Don't try me.”

That mollified her some.

“I
do
have good judgment,” she said, relaxing a little. “I'm glad you know that. And I don't want to kill you, Black Fox.”

At the way she said his name, a small burst of gladness raced through him. He didn't quite know why.

“I thank you for that,” he said solemnly. “But did you ever think it might be the other way around?”

Her eyes shone bright in the growing dusk.

“You wouldn't kill a woman,” she said flatly, “if you hate so much to take one to jail.”

“And you think I'm a good enough shot only to wing you?”

“I know you are,” she said, in that same, sure tone.

She sounded as if she knew him well. And she looked at him almost fondly, as if she were glad about that.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I don't mean for them to see me and they won't. I've had a lot of practice at being a burglar, you know.”

His throat tightened.

“That's a dangerous business, sneaking around men who are known to be killers and thieves,” he said. “Let's…”

The sound of hoofbeats on the road interrupted
him. Two riders were coming from the north, one on a loud, black-and-white paint and the other on a dark chestnut Tennessee Walker.

“I recognize both those horses from the ones carrying Becker's gang the day you got shot,” Black Fox said, watching them come. “Those two renegades are here because he is.”

“Maybe it's a pow-wow,” Cathleen said. “If they're planning some new jobs for The Cat, we'll find them out! This is our chance to find out if Becker's our man.”

“Maybe they're just here to sell something they've stolen,” he said.

She thought about it.

“But they wouldn't
all
need to be here for that,” she said. “I think they're going to steal something or shoot somebody else tonight and leave my sign.”

They looked at one another, each pondering what further argument to make. Then she gave him a smile that nearly blinded him.

“I have to protect my reputation, Black Fox,” she said. “You understand, don't you?”

He couldn't endure that kind of heat from her eyes without reaching for her. He couldn't watch her beautiful lips and not kiss them.

So he turned and scanned the road in both directions until he felt sufficiently strong to look at her and risk the force of another smile.

“Flirting will get you nowhere,” he said.

The words came out in a much lighter tone than he had intended.

“Aw, come on,” she said.

She smiled again and he decided he might have misjudged his own strength.

“You've never seen a demonstration of my burglaring skills.”

“Yes, I have,” he said wryly. “You forget I saw you light out of Tassel Glass's store like the devil himself was after you.”

She looked shocked.

“But I was in broad daylight then,” she cried. “I went in there openly, which was my mistake. It nearly got me killed, too.”

“Yes, it did. But what you have to realize is that it's even more dangerous to get caught sneaking around and eavesdropping on a bunch of thieves and murderers.”

“I won't get caught,” she said passionately.

The determination in the set of her pretty chin was unmistakable.

“I
will
have to tie you to a tree,” he said. “There's no way around it.”

She knew exactly what to say. She knew exactly how to look at him, her eyes wide and innocent. And filled with sureness of his understanding.

“It's my
life
at stake, Black Fox,” she said quietly. “You are a man of honor and if we don't find
who killed that marshal, you'll take me in and I know it.”

Searching his eyes for confirmation, she smiled sadly.

“No matter how much you hate to have to do it, you will,” she said. “And I wouldn't respect you as much as I do if you didn't.”

He wanted to deny it. If
words
, simply words, would keep her safe, he would say them.

But he couldn't. She was right and she knew it.

“I have a right to try to save my own life,” she said. “And you know it'll come down to a hanging if you take me in. Somebody else using my sign once or twice wouldn't create enough doubt in the minds of Judge Parker or a jury.”

The light went out of him as if she'd snuffed a candle. His throat felt so tight he didn't think he could speak.

But he nodded.

“Then you'll not give me any trouble about going in there to Possum's?”

“No,” he said, and found that that was all he could say right then.

He
was the one who was out of his mind—both for the way he was feeling and for letting her go in there.

“I can do it,” she said reassuringly, as if she could see the fear he was trying to hide.

He looked away. The riders were stopping at Possum's and getting down.

Finally, he got control of himself again.

“At Glass's store I counted seven men with Becker,” he said. “That may have changed by now, but maybe not. The other three might show up here in a little while.”

“Traveling in twos and threes so as not to draw attention,” Cathleen mused, “way off down here so far from where they usually roam. I call this an important meeting.”

She turned and poured that clear, green gaze on him.

“Don't you agree, Black Fox?”

“We could give it a little while and see if the last three come, too. Let it get full dark,” he said, and cleared his throat when his voice came out raspy. “You can't stay too long once you get in there and if they're not talking business because they're waiting for the others, it'll be wasted effort.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded agreement.

“Come on,” he said, “there's a little cove down here in the bend of the creek. We can leave the horses there.”

She turned her horse to go with his.

“You can stay and hold them,” she said.

He whipped his head around to look at her.

“No. I'm standing lookout for you.”

She frowned.

“If eight of them found you, they'd kill you, Black Fox.”

They looked at each other while the horses walked toward the chattering creek.

“Even five of them,” she said thoughtfully, “might be enough.”

He felt a quick flash of amusement. And maybe something more. Something else, some kind of pleasure akin to pride or happiness.

“You think I could handle four of 'em?” he asked.

She nodded wisely.

“I really think five,” she said seriously, although her eyes were smiling into his, “but you might need just the least bit of warning.”

The horses walked on.

He smiled at her and realized that he could not rest if he let her go into Possum's alone.

“Then I'd be the perfect one to sneak up and listen in on their palaver,” he said. “How about if we turn it around and you're the lookout?”

Her eyes darkened.

“Don't start that,” she said. “You promised not to give me any trouble.”

“Cathleen, if they slipped up on
you
without warning…”

She interrupted, “They won't. I know what I'm doing.”

His jaw tightened.

“Don't look like that,” she said. “You'll be right outside and it'll make me stronger to know it. I'm not accustomed to
any
help.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“And I'm not accustomed to anybody caring whether I come back alive,” she said quietly. “Thanks, Black Fox.”

The grateful innocence of her tone grabbed him by the throat and tied a knot in his breath.

He looked ahead to the sweet cove hidden by the weeping willow trees.

“All right, then,” he said.

But nothing was all right and he wondered if it ever would be again.

 

Cathleen threw one leg over the windowsill, felt around for a place to set her foot, and waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the deeper darkness. Outside, there were stars and a three-quarter moon. In this room at the back of the building, it was pitch black except for a slanted line of light at a door in the opposite corner.

The best she could tell, it was a storeroom of some kind. She wanted to take a last look back to try for a glimpse of Black Fox but she wouldn't let herself. So she stayed there, bent almost double to get through the small opening, staring inside while she tried to slow her breathing.

Faint voices sounded somewhere deeper inside. She felt what seemed to be the dirt floor under her boot and slipped on inside. It took forever to feel her way among the scattered boxes and barrels to the faint line of light.

From there, she couldn't distinguish a word from the low buzz of conversation she judged to be coming from the tavern room. Her legs trembled a little but she made herself look, and then step, into the hallway. The light, as well as the sound, was coming from the tavern.

She took a deep, bracing breath and slipped along the shadowy hallway toward the light and the voices. Her limbs trembled a bit and her lungs wouldn't let go of the air she'd taken in.

This is no time to lose your grip, Cathleen. Go, go.

And so she did, watching the shadows, lifting her feet carefully, wishing she'd left her boots off and outside every time they scraped a bump on the floor or hit the wall. She hadn't mentioned it to Black Fox, but she wasn't accustomed to thieving in inhabited places. It was a whole different proposition.